


Jeeves and the Proposal

by Anatole



Series: Patience Rewarded [2]
Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Christmas, Established Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2016-12-07
Packaged: 2018-09-07 05:13:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8784466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anatole/pseuds/Anatole
Summary: Bertie and Jeeves have spent many Christmases together but this will be their first holiday since confessing their feelings for each other and Jeeves wants to ask Bertie a certain question...





	

Our Christmas tree was still bare – it had been delivered only half an hour ago. I placed it in the corner of the sitting room and adjusted its branches. Bertram had gone to the Christmas dinner at the Drones Club and I was impatient for his return so that we could start decorating the Christmas tree together. We’d spent several Christmases under the same roof, so my elation may seem out of place but this time was different. Earlier this year we declared our tender feelings for each other, thus putting an end to the misery that was our mutual conviction that our love for the other was not reciprocated. There is nobody and nothing under the sun that I cherish more than Bertram and as the poets would say, I consider myself to be truly blessed to have earned the love of such a good and gentle person as him.

When I turn back to the past Christmases in my memory, I am stricken with the realisation that amidst the apparent jollity and festivity that characterised our celebrations, there was in them something lacking, a barely perceptible sadness. Bertram – Mr Wooster for me then – would invite me to his table; initially, I was reluctant to acquiesce on account of the feudal spirit I was determined to uphold but the sight of his pleading expression made me relent. He would entertain me with his conversation that never failed to amuse me, even though I invariably hid it behind my cold mask. Then, beaming with excitement, he would produce his Christmas present for me; it was always a carefully wrapped package containing a philosophical book or a poetry collection of high literary merit, undoubtedly selected with the help of a competent bookseller. When he handed me the present for the first time I could hardly contain myself – I hadn’t anticipated such generosity from an employer. But Mr Wooster wasn’t just any employer. He held his breath as I, still incredulous, opened a ponderous anthology of German philosophy. Since then, I was sure to purchase something for him too, usually a detective novel or a suitable tie to replace those garish garments that sometimes had to be sacrificed for the common good.

With hindsight, we had been like a married couple for a long time, without realising it. We spent holidays together, gave each other presents and genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. But I remember being constantly on my guard, mindful not to overstep the boundaries of propriety. I often dreamt of covering his hand with my own as we sat at the table on those festive occasions. I also dreamt of pressing my lips to his soft hair and sliding my hand underneath his shirt to feel his bare skin. These thoughts, while a most pleasant daydream, were folly. At the time, I was convinced that the best thing I could have in my life was to work for Mr Wooster for as long as he was willing to employ me. Having retired to my room after the Christmas dinner, I was always faced with a pang of regret that I couldn’t show him my love for him. I wondered if he felt as lonely as I, after we both closed the doors to our rooms following the Christmas dinner. It stood to reason that Christmas with a servant wasn’t an ideal arrangement but somehow, he always preferred to stay at the flat with me, postponing his visit to one of his family houses for a few days. This sense of unfulfillment interfered with my festive mood and I recalled the words of the poet Tennyson:

> _With trembling fingers did we weave  
>  _ _The holly round the Christmas hearth;  
>  _ _A rainy cloud possess’d the earth,  
>  _ _And sadly fell our Christmas-eve._
> 
> _At our old pastimes in the hall  
>  _ _We gambol’d, making vain pretence  
>  _ _Of gladness, with an awful sense  
>  _ _Of one mute Shadow watching all._

He mourned the loss of his friend, for whom – as I assumed – he harboured feelings akin to mine for Mr Wooster. I had to remind myself that I had no real reason to mourn; my love was alive and well in the adjoining room and while I couldn’t hold his hand sitting by the fireplace on a winter evening, I could at least see him almost every day and help him solve the preposterous problems of his family and friends.

This Christmas was to be different: we would sit at the same table and go through the same formula, but now I could caress his cheek as he unpacked his present and kiss him, wishing him merry Christmas. This was happiness I didn’t feel I altogether deserved but which I could never forsake. Bertram always praises me and my skills but I’m perpetually in awe of his good heart, forever grateful for his devotion. I dream we will have many more Christmases in the future and that they will be all filled with love.

 

I was lost in my thoughts when I heard the doorbell ring. My heartbeat quickened and I hastened to open the door.

Hardly had I closed it behind Bertram that he embraced me tightly, still in his coat and hat. He clung to me for a long time and I rubbed his back, slightly taken aback by the urgency of the hug.

“I love you, Reggie,” he said, loosening his grip a little to look at me. “I love you so very much.”

“I love you too, Bertram,” I replied, gently pressing my lips to his.

He was clearly distressed but I couldn’t understand why. His outing was to be an enjoyable party with his friends – admittedly not the most reasonable people but of whom Bertram was genuinely fond. Had anything unpleasant transpired among them? Or had the dreaded Aunt Agatha telegraphed to inform him of another forced engagement? Whatever it was, I was determined to resolve it.

“Has something happened?” I enquired, having deposited him of his outer garments. I led him to the sitting room by the arm and we sat down on the chesterfield.

“Nothing awful, old fruit,” he said. “It’s just that… this new chap, Tiberius ‘Tibby’ Goldstone-something-or-other just got engaged and we made a toast and what not. It’s been rather spiffing, I must admit, old Pongo even did a belly dance on the table, but then they teased me.”

“What did they say exactly?”

“Well… That I wasted so many chances to get married and that I hadn’t talked about beazels in such a long time that I’m probably going to be always alone. Somebody said it was probably for my own good as wives are… I forgot what they are but it was all rot. All I wanted to do was to bally tell them that I won’t be always alone because I have you. Blast it! I wanted to tell them I love you, Reggie.”

I caressed his neck soothingly as he snuggled to me.

“You know you can’t do this, Bertram.”

“I know,” he sighed. “But it’s so bally unfair that they get to brag about their wives and fiancées and I can’t tell anyone how happy I am because of you. It’s dashed depressing, especially at this time of the year.”

“I know, love. I understand. But the world wants to destroy us – we cannot allow that.”

He nodded, wiping a single tear with his sleeve.

“Maybe we’ll be able to tell someone in the future but we’ll have to be very careful whom to take into confidence. Meanwhile, I have something else to offer you. I’ve been meaning to ask you tomorrow but now I don’t want to postpone it.”

He looked at me expectantly.

“Will you marry me, Bertram?”

“I say, Reggie… You… you know we can’t.”

“But would you if we could?”

He took my hand in his and squeezed it gently.

“Of course I would. I love you, Reggie.”

“I have contemplated the matter and propose that we buy wedding rings and go to Paris to exchange vows. We can do it in a hotel room and no one will know but to us it’ll be our wedding day.”

“I say!”

“Does it mean yes?” I asked, stroking his hair.

“Yes! Yes, of course. This brain of yours is unsurpassed, Reggie. Wedding rings sound topping. When shall we go?”

“Shortly after Christmas, perhaps? We’ll be out of reach of any disturbance for a few days.”

“Yes, Reggie, let’s do it. I can’t wait for it, I’m already as excited as MacIntosh, eying a freshly sizzled sausage.”

I started to laugh, which was rather uncharacteristic of me.

“I love you, Bertram,” I said, deciding not to elaborate on his simile.

“I love you too, my dear old man,” he replied, his voice full of warmth.

 

We spent the remainder of the day decorating the Christmas tree. The following day we sat down to the Christmas dinner, already anticipating our honeymoon. No one could dream of better Christmas.


End file.
